


Ballad of Blood

by Jakathine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Vamplock, aulock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/pseuds/Jakathine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Until further notice this Fanfic has been discontinued</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock Holmes is a consulting detective for Scotland Yard but harbors a mysterious past. John is a human passerby that happens to become a writer for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballad of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> In this version: The way he [Sherlock] stays young is by utterly consuming a prey (human), both blood and body as well as the person's very soul, in a special ceremony. By using this method, he takes on the form of the human he has absorbed entirely and let’s it age, taking on another form when he wills. He still requires blood but does not drink more than his fill. Sunlight merely weakens him (or makes him irritable) but he excuses this through a medical condition. Sleeping and eating are not required, though he does indulge in these activities so as to seem inconspicuous.  
> Throughout time he has a companion that writes down his many solved cases, for that would be quite a lot to solve in such an expanse of years. Sherlock’s most desired person almost always has the name of Watson, so as to stay in rhythm with the tale weaved by his old friend Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who created the Sherlock & Watson persona for him upon discovering Sherlock for what he truly was.  
> John meets him by accident in an alley when one night. Utterly captivated with the stranger he meets in said alleyway, John agrees to become a writer for Sherlock as he solves cases.

The warehouse resounded with the boom and rhythm of electro dance as John made his way through the crowd. Why he had decided to come to this massive party he was unsure. Upon seeing Stamford leaning up against a makeshift bar flirting with a blonde-haired woman did he remember the bet to settle with his long time friend and merely sighed.

“Ah! John!” Stamford said as he spotted John coming over to where he stood, “How are ya, mate?”

“I’m…all right.” John said as he looked around, “So why this place?”

“Because it’s fun!” Stamford beamed, tipping his can of ale emphatically.

John rolled his eyes and shrugged, murmuring to himself, “Whatever you say.”

“This is my fav song, c’mon!” Stamford said, grabbing John with one hand and the blonde woman’s hand with the other before dragging them out onto the dance floor.

John, awkward at first, danced alongside Stamford and the woman. He took a long draught of the ale in his hand before becoming more involved, picking up the pace of the beat and actually starting to enjoy himself. That is until his leg seized. John grasped Stamford’s shoulder in sudden alarm and his vision blurred slightly. Stamford stopped his dancing and, after excusing himself from the woman, helped John limp over to where some old car seats were up lined up against a wall. A couple was in the chairs but with one look at John and Stamford they quickly moved off and let John sit down.

“You ok there, mate?” Stamford said, concern on his face.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right.” John smiled faintly, rubbing at his tender thigh, “I think that’ll be enough for now. Best be heading home.”

“All right.” Stamford nodded, “Hey…I know we made that bet to get you snockered on return but with how that leg is….don’t worry about it. Go get some rest.”

John stood, testing his leg for balance, before he turned and gave an apologetic smile to Stamford, “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. Go on.” Stamford said with a pat on John’s back.

John limped his way out of the back of the building, hoping to rest against the alleyway wall before hailing a cab. The air was a bit chilled but manageable as he drew up his coat close to him and breathed on his hands. The pain had subsided but the aching throb was still present. John cursed his misfortune for he had just started to actually enjoy himself when this started.

“Dangerous to be back here isn’t it?” a silky smooth voice came from a shadow directly across the alleyway from where John was.

John jumped, his hand instantly going to his waist to draw his gun but he was met by a gap. He cursed mentally. He had forgotten he had left the gun at his flat. A deep laughter wafted from the shadow. John had started to slide back to the backdoor of the warehouse when a slight fluttering of clothing stopped him in his tracks. There, now standing in front of him and in the light cast from the small bulb by the backdoor, John could see the face to the voice. He was tall, much taller than John, and slim. His skin was ivory pale and the facial structure itself like that of a dignified blueblood with the high cheekbones and sharp nose he had.  His eyes were what caught John’s attention most of all. They were a brilliant shade of blue, akin to that of cerulean, and that seemed to pulsate with energy.  John sucked in a sharp breath as the mysterious man leaned in close, placing a hand on the wall beside John’s head.

“Going somewhere?” the man inquired, dipping lower to smile in John’s face.

John backed up but found himself already flat against the brick wall. He glanced on either side, hoping to run. A twinge in his thigh quickly reminded him that he would not even get far should he attempt. With no other choice, John gathered his courage and looked the man straight in the eyes.

“Obviously not. You’re in my way.” John stated his voice steady.

The man’s eyebrows quirked in surprise and he let out a short laugh, “Why, indeed, I am.”

“Are you going to move then?” John asked, clenching his jaw and attempting to stare the taller man down.

The man tilted his head and looked John up and down before smiling a devilish grin and backing off, “Army doctor. Injury to leg causes a limp and occurring cramps. You’re around your late 30s and yet are unattached. Interestingly, you came here with or at least for a friend, for this type of venue does not particularly appeal to you.” Before John could ask how he would know all of this, the man stuck out his hand, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective.”

John looked at the outstretched hand and then back up at the man-Sherlock- before taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, “And I’m John Watson….along with everything else you just said about me. Which…how did you know that?”

Sherlock grinned, his teeth impeccably white. John could have sword he saw fangs but put the thought to the side as Sherlock said, “Because I’m no amateur. However, I was wondering, would you be willing to be my assistant? From the amount of dark circles under your eyes I gather you’re currently unemployed and are having a tough time paying bills.”

John shuffled his feet and looked away, irritated that this worry of his was so clearly shown on his face in front of a man he had just met.

“I can offer you good pay plus you can split my rent, should you move in with me.” Sherlock continued, “In my flat lives only me and my landlady, who has been wanting me to have a flatmate.”

John sharply glanced back up, meeting Sherlock’s eyes in an attempt to see if the man was lying. Upon finding no such sign, John bit his lip and considered the offer. It was true he was unemployed, his flat was desolately barren and the rent on it was pushing his budget. To move in with this man would put an end to that financial pressure. _For what?_ He thought, _merely keeping up with his day-to-day activities or something like that?_ John closed his eyes and when he opened them again Sherlock was smirking down at him, as if already knowing the answer.

“The address is 221b Baker Street.” Sherlock positively purred, “I expect to see you moved in by the end of the week.”

John, whose mouth had been opened to accept the offer, quickly closed his mouth and merely nodded, thinking to himself, _I hope I do not regret this_.


End file.
